The Forest Suite
by Colour Coded Chaos
Summary: Post-DH Brackenwood crossover. When Harry is being hunted through the Forbidden Forest, a mysterious figure comes to his rescue. Turns out there are more people who think he's a saviour... Rated M for violence and probably a bit of sex later. It's fun.
1. First Movement E: Runners of the Night

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing below, except the idea of mashing this little lot together like a nerdy girly Calvin Harris. Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and the other half of this little tale's characters belong to one Adam Phillips.**_

_**The Forest Symphony, First Movement for Strings in E**_

_**RUNNERS OF THE NIGHT**_

In his seventh year at Hogwarts, Harry Potter had expected to be able to live normally. After all, the year before he'd defeated Lord Voldemort and the Order of the Phoenix had taken care of the majority of the Death Eaters. Amos Diggory, the newly-minted Minister for Magic, had seen to it that they were brought to trial and imprisoned within the walls of a purpose-built prison called Dinas Carreg, a lightless, entirely underground complex sunk deep into Cornish granite, there to suffer a slow and lingering death by Dementor exposure and radiation sickness. At the time, Harry had thought it too kind. For goodness' sake, it was all supposed to be _over_!

This thought was not exactly comforting as he pounded through the Forbidden Forest, risking the occasional glance over his shoulder as the Death Eater remnants (acting, Harry was sure, under the auspices of the even-now untouchable Lucius Malfoy) and firing off Disarming Spells and the occasional Stunner when he felt he had a clear shot. Branches whipped both him and his pursuers in their faces, a large one almost knocking Harry's glasses from his face and wishing under his breath that he'd superglued them to his face. A sickly green light pulsed past him and smashed into a tree, the wood turning gnarled and rotten as the spell sucked the life force from it. The duck that made the tree able to sacrifice itself for him made the Boy-Who-Lived trip over a tree root and go sprawling into the dirt. This fall in made another spell, this time the grisly flesh tone of a Brain Gobbler Curse, smash into the same tree with a crack of splintering wood. Harry's wand skittered from his hand and he scrabbled towards it, throwing up a quick Protego to deflect the Frostblood Hex sent his way by a giggling, time-ravaged blonde. He scrabbled back, feet giving him purchase as he blasted spell after spell into the Death Eaters. One went down to a mix of an Engorgement Charm and the Bat Bogey Hex Ginny'd taught him, the huge creatures bursting from his sinuses and tearing off a goodly amount of the skin of his face, not to mention the bloody wreck that was his nose. _Excellent,_ he thought, _now if I can just fend off the others_-

And that was when he heard a voice like black velvet say, scant metres from the side of his head, "Crucio".

White hot pain seared through Harry Potter's already exhausted frame, and a scream ripped itself from him. It was almost childlike, the noise, like the shriek of a little boy who'd lost a precious toy. Lucius Malfoy smiled and bent over him.

"Boy, you have tried the patience of the true believers once too often. It is time for you to know our power, and the folly of your resistance. Crucio!"

Another lance of agony jammed itself into Harry's brain and flooded his body from there. His nerves were on fire, everywhere hurt like the Devil himself was roasting him on a spit. He forced himself not to cry out, but a Skin Tightening Curse from the blonde made him do just that. The curse's power made his skin grow taut against his flesh, and it began to tear and the joints of his body. Wide gashes started to appear almost spontaneously on his hips, knees and elbows, the flesh underneath tearing its way out through the top layer like strippers in a birthday cake. His abused body shook with the magic inside him, destroying his flesh just as surely as it clawed at his mind.

He opened his eyes for a brief second, before they could hurt him again, and saw the big man who had been running with the blonde woman raise his wand.

"Sanguinio Inferna_aaaaaargh_!"

A green-tinged blur had come out of the forest and crashed into the Death Eater, the impact force sending the man hurtling back and impaling him on a tree. That didn't account for the other two holes in his chest, though. The blonde woman turned and grinned, lashing out at the blur with a variety of Dark curses as it flicked into the air and smashed her to the ground, the splintering noise of her wand echoing those of her ribs scant seconds later. Lucius let off an Avada Kedavra at the blur and leapt skywards, his dead Lord's trick of flight having been taught to his inner circle of minions. The blur shot up through the trees, and as it slowed and gravity took over, Harry Potter saw that it was no man.

This, in hindsight, should really have been obvious.

It had a shaggy coat of green hair covering its legs like the fawns of one of Hermione's fantasy novels, but its face was also covered, though this hair was considerably longer and decidedly more well-kept. The torso was bare and covered in swooping knotwork tattoos that made the skin look like it was flowing beneath them, and atop the head were long, curved horns. The creature seemed familiar somehow, even as it lashed out with a long wooden staff that glowed with runes. It landed and hunched over him, muttering some kind of spell to lift the curses and heal the young man's shattered magical core.

"Who… who are you…" Harry managed after a good couple of minutes. The creature straightened up and spoke, in a voice deeper and yet kinder than those of the centaurs that also inhabited the forest.

"My name is Larieth, Kynsa-del-Kynsa of the Lake Forest Dashkin. And my people are in dire need of a saviour like you."

More of the creatures – Dashkin, Harry corrected himself with a little effort – emerged from the trees, some frail and stick-thin with age and some with braided hair and small, firm, obviously feminine breasts. They were all looking at him with a note of desperate longing, and they were all armed. Before the shock of it all sank in and sent him thumping to the floor, he managed to choke out three words.

"Oh, not _again_."


	2. Fife and Drum Adagio: The Tree Kingdoms

_**AN: The Harry Potter universe belongs to J.K. Rowling. The Brackenwood critters, in particular Bitey, belong to Adam Phillips. The idea for mashing them up and adjusting Dashkin society to what it is in this (complete with bastardised Cornish) belongs to me. It's about the only thing that does.**_

_**The Forest Symphony, Adagio for Tin Whistle and Bodhran**_

_**THE TREE KINGDOMS**_

The Boy-Who-Lived was drifting in and out of a pain-filled consciousness as his skin knitted itself back together. Dashkin, Dashkin… he tried to dredge the memory of what they were up from the recesses of half-remembered conversations with Hermione in the tent. All those days spent speaking either of nothings or not even speaking at all, they had blurred and merged. He'd tried to forget everything about his hunt for the Horcruxes and the final battle with Voldemort. The man's soul – if that was what he'd seen in King's Cross when he had died – deserved its place in eternal, fractured misery, and to remember him would only be to give those who followed his ways more power and influence. So he reasoned, anyway.

As his mind wandered, sounds seeped into him. It was a strange kind of conversation in a strange mode of speech, lilting and fey, in a language he vaguely felt he knew from somewhere. A sleep-crusted eye opened with what seemed to him like an impossibly loud crack, and he saw his rescuer sat upon a Reducto-blasted tree stump, still black and smelling of burnt sap. Another Dashkin, with his long horns covered in woven grass and flowers, sat beside him.

"Kynsa…"

"Arendil, please…"

"My apologies. Larieth, when he said not again, did he mean…"

"Yes. This is the Kynsa-an-Hosruth, the First of the Phoenix Peoples of the Slow. You remember when the snake creature came into our lands, eight years ago? He was a human, but tainted, his spirit shattered and placed in objects scattered hither and yon in the world of the Slow."

"He _broke_ his…" What Harry could see of this new Dashkin – Arundell or something – had hunched over and was in the process of being violently ill.

"Indeed, Arendil. The snake creature came to me in secret to request an alliance, when the harshest snows covered the ground last. He tried to bribe me with Slow magicks, trinkets and children's toys. And when I cast him out…"

"Where was this, Larieth? Which of the lands of England were you in?"

Larieth's voice hoarsened, as if begging for atonement. "Cos-an-Epping."

"… You condemned them to slaughter. You condemned an entire Kynsailund to fire and death. What if your wife had been there? What if it had been Thessalin? You… you murderer! Larieth, what have you _done_?"

"What have I done? I saved my people from an eternity of enslavement to the Slow's darkest Kynsas! I placed my faith in the Phoenixes of the Slow. I placed my faith in him! And I was proved correct in my judgement."

"But it was proved at the cost of a thousand lives and the destruction of our greatest stronghold in the south! Larieth, please, tell me you did not know the Dark One would do this… for the sake of Isha, tell me…"

The hoarseness returned. "I did not know what he was capable of. Arendil… I beg you, as a father to another, do not tell Thessalin of this. Her condition is too precarious."

"I agree. But a part of me wants you to know how much the people of Cos-an-Epping suffered. Once she is well, you should tell her, that she know your shame. Perhaps you should get your beloved Slow Kynsa there to heal her, as he has been watching and listening for what I assume to be the entire time we have been speaking."

Larieth spun round to face Harry, who got unsteadily to his feet and scrabbled around for his wand. A muttered Lumos let him see the two Dashkin's expressions, one of anger and the other of compassion.

"Look… Larieth, um… did I get that right?" The Dashkin leader nodded. "Right. Good. Um. Listen, I fought Voldemort and killed him. And it damn near killed me, lots of times… and I don't even know what it is you want me to do this time around, and I don't know how to fight it, and I'm barely able to so much as walk without it hurting like hell. Why do you want me?"

"You've answered your own question, Slowling," muttered Arendil. "Come. If you are to be the saviour of the Dashkin, you must walk with us to our city. If you cannot walk, Larieth will bear you."

It was at roughly this point Harry noticed a trickling sensation around his knees. Looking down, he saw blood pooling on the floor around his battered trainers.

"I might take you up on that offer… also, ouch."

Larieth blurred, and Harry was carried off to the kingdom under the leaves.

[[SCREEN BREAK]]

"I… I don't understand…" Hermione said. "He only went to visit Hagrid, and now it's after _midnight_… oh, Ginny, I'm just so worried about him!"

"And you think I'm not? You don't have a monopoly on him, Hermione. He's my friend too." Harry and Ginny had tried dating after the Battle of Hogwarts for a little while. The sex had been fantastic – Ginny had suggested changing his nickname to the Boy who Loved, which had spread through the school like butter on hot toast and was on the front cover of Witch Weekly a day later – but the spark of love hadn't been there. They'd agreed it was probably for the best if they separated and remained friends. Besides, when Ginny's face had been splashed across the front covers of various witch magazines Molly Weasley had gone a shade of puce usually reserved for finding one of Fred's sweets lying around the house. It had almost been as bad as the time Luna had, shall we say… dressed down for the front cover of Wizard Nuts.

"You reckon we should go and have a look for him? He can't have got far… besides, it'll be nice to see Hagrid again."

"I'm coming too," yawned Ron, appearing from the stairs as gracefully as a shambling ginger walrus. "I saw him first."

"Ooooh, brother of mine, we don't want Hermione getting jealous, now do we?" Ginny's smirk covered most of her face and Ron's ears went bright red. After coming out as bisexual in a review given to the Daily Prophet, Ronald Weasley had become a slightly unlikely poster boy for gay rights campaigners across the Wizarding World. Strangely, this was about the one overtly sexual action of her children that Molly had actually approved of. No-one was completely sure why, and even less people wanted to ask.

"I have nothing to fear from Harry," said Hermione primly. "He's our friend, and in any event Ronald has already selected a male lover who is amenable to both of us. We had him around for tea during the holidays."

"Okay, Luna, why are you Polyjuiced as Hermione?"

The three snickered and walked off towards the grounds, giving a cheery wave to Professor Flitwick as they passed. The Deputy Headmaster smiled and waved back, then returned to his continued attempts to charm the wall back together.

Hagrid's hut was only a little walk away, and they made good time, chatting about nothing until they arrived. It retained its usual charm, a little stream of woodsmoke coming from the chimney, the huge pumpkins growing out in their patch, the scorch marks on the ground that looked like spell damage –

Wait, what?

"HAGRID!"

"'Ermione? Tha' you? Cor blimey, Oi'm glad yer alright. An' Ron an' Ginny too? Well, yer a bit late, but I reckon as you can still 'elp me look fer im-"

"Hagrid, you're bleeding! And your hair's on fire, and that arm looks dislocated, and what the hell is going on?"

"Malfoy an' 'is pals stopped over fer a cuppa an' a bit o' torturin'." Hermione squeaked and Ron wrapped an arm around her. "'Arry got two as I saw an' ran fer the woods. One of 'em got me with a Coma Hex. On'y woke up ten minutes ago. Merlin's beard, Oi 'ope the centaurs ain't got 'im. They've been 'avin' a right ol' paddy every toime a human goes inter the Forest. Course, Larieth's alright… 'e might 'ave 'im, come ter think of it. Let's go."

"Slow down… who's Larieth? And how did Death Eaters get back into Hogwarts?"

"Well, Hermione, that'd be you askin' one o' them differcult questions. If Oi knew the answer as ter why them lot can get inter the grounds after everything the 'Eadmistress bolted onter the wards over the summer, Oi wouldn't've been flat on moi arse fer Merlin knows 'ow long. As fer yer previous question… tha's not summat Oi'm completely at liberty to indulge, if yer follow me meaning. Yer'll work it out once yer see 'im, though. Speakin' o' which, it's toime we wuz makin' tracks." Hagrid slung his enormous crossbow over one shoulder and made for the Forest, the three teens yammering excitedly at him as they tried to keep step with his long, loping gait. He wasn't really listening to anything other than the general gist of it. The actual words all meant the same thing, so he decided to shut down everything at once. He loved the kids, especially Hermione and Ron, but sometimes they made him feel like his ears were beginning to bleed.

"Look, you lot, there're parts o' the forest what not even the 'Eadmistress knows about. Larieth's people… well, Oi reckon as Oi'm about the only one who knows they're 'ere. They came ter Dumbledore back in the Sixties, an' swore 'im ter secrecy about their existence. Yer had ter earn their trust, but once yeh've got it it's yours fer life. Oi reckon as they'll trust yer. Not havin' any bother keepin' up, are yeh?"

He looked around. Back up against a tree of no discernible species other than 'bloody huge', the three Gryffindors were wheezing like broken accordions. Larieth had taught the gamekeeper how to run one year, _really_ run, run like they did. Hagrid turned to gather them back up when a voice appeared from opposite his young charges, accompanied by glowing eyes and a face-covering mop of green, braided hair.

"You never did quite master how to move silently, Hagrid of the Phoenix People. Perhaps your younglings will learn better."

"Arendil… Oi thought you'd caught a killin' fever a decade ago!"

"Nevertheless, I survive. Aren't you going to introduce me?"

"Oh, roight. Sorry. Er, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, this is Arendil Astareth. 'E's one of Larieth's council-"

"Hagrid," said Hermione, "That's a Dashkin. They don't exist. Please, tell me I'm hallucinating."

Arendil walked over and prodded the bushy-haired girl with his staff. "I assure you, I am perfectly real. Or perhaps I would say that, and reach out to touch you, for I am secretly a vision and simply seek to trick you. Perhaps I am neither, perhaps both… it rather depends on you, Slowling girl."

"Oh… You never warned me they might get all… metaphysical on me…" Hermione trailed off in a dead faint.

"Er, well, like Oi said, Arendil's a Dashkin of the Kynsailund that lives round hereabouts. Basically means kingdom in their language."

"A real Dashkin?" Said Ginny excitedly. "You're completely real, and you've been living here?"

"Me and fifteen hundred more alike."

"Bloody _hell_."

"That's my line," mumbled Ron, before joining Hermione on the undergrowth.


End file.
